


1A

by PR Zed (przed)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 02:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12423483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/przed/pseuds/PR%20Zed
Summary: Steve lies on the couch, staring at the piece of paper clutched tightly in both hands, not quite believing it's his.  A Department of Selective Service Certificate of Acceptability.  And stamped in the corner, 1A.Steve gets what he thought he wanted.  Bucky comes back for a proper goodbye.





	1A

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Slaughter_Me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slaughter_Me/gifts).



> Inspired by [**Slaughter_Me**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Slaughter_Me)'s gorgeous art, found [**here**](http://slaughterme-barnes.tumblr.com/post/142860712129/dont-do-anythin-stupid-till-i-get-back-how-can) and embedded in the story. Thanks for being one of the best muses a gal could ask for! 
> 
> I meant to write fluffy smut, but somewhere along the way this turned a bit more angsty.

Steve lies on the couch, staring at the piece of paper clutched tightly in both hands, not quite believing it's his. A Department of Selective Service Certificate of Acceptability. And stamped in the corner, 1A.

1A. 

Six tries. It took him six tries to get that stamp, one number and one letter in slightly smudged, slightly askew ink. He's been wanting that stamp for so long, since even before Bucky got shipped off to basic, that he's not sure how he feels now that he's got it. Proud, definitely, that he can finally do something for the country his mom chose for them both. Relieved that he can stop _this_ fight, and concentrate on the fight that matters, the fight against the bullies in Europe. But if he's being honest with himself, there's also a suspicion that his stubbornness, his absolute refusal to do what he's been told, to accept what people tell him is inevitable, is about to land him in a world of trouble.

The sound of a key in the lock startles him into sitting up, and he quickly sits up, and pushes his brand new 1A Certificate of Acceptability down behind the couch cushions, telling himself that he absolutely, positively doesn't feel guilty about it.

Bucky opens the door, key in one hand, cap pushed rakishly back on his head. 

"What are you doing still up, punk?"

"What are you doing here at all, you jerk?" Steve hears the brittleness in his own voice, but he's powerless to stop it. He'd reconciled himself to not seeing Bucky again until he either made it to Europe himself or Bucky came home again. He figured Bucky would spend the night with his girl, or with both the girls. Or go back to his ma's place. Having him here now is just picking the scab off a nasty scrape so it can ooze and bleed some more before it heals.

"Thought I'd come back so you could give me a proper send-off. Unless you don't want to." Bucky's smile fades, his expression shutting down in a way Steve has only ever seen a couple of times. Like when that stupid doctor told him maybe it would be better if Steve didn't recover from rheumatic fever. Or when his ma told him that Sarah was dying because Steve didn't have the words to do it. Steve hates that look. He'll do anything to drive that look off Bucky's face. Anything, up to and including the thing they keep swearing they won't do again.

"What exactly do you mean by a proper send-off?" Steve stretches his legs in front of him, draping one arm across the back of the couch in a way that he hopes looks like the invitation it is. 

"Oh, I don't know." Bucky's expression eases, and he throws his cap behind him, easily hitting the hook by the door that held his fedora before he went off to basic training. He sprawls on the couch, his legs aligned with Steve's, his foot bumping Steve's. "Whaddaya got on offer?"

Steve hesitates for a second, caught by the wonder that Bucky is here, that Bucky wants him. But then he grins and grabs Bucky's hand, standing and leaning, leveraging him off the couch.

"Let's find out together," he says, and pulls Bucky further into the apartment, back to his bedroom. Bucky follows, tightening his grip on Steve's hand, trailing slightly behind, a half grin on his face when Steve looks back at him.

The curtains are already drawn on the window in the small room. It's lit only by the golden light spilling in from the living room and the street. He pulls Bucky to him, catching hold of both his hands, and spends a long minute taking him in, his broad shoulders and strong chin, his perceptive eyes and lush mouth, astounded as always that Bucky allows him this intimacy. Steve runs his hands up Bucky's arms, resting them on those strong shoulders, asking a question without words. Bucky cocks his head and looks down at him through his lashes, then nods, giving Steve permission for everything that comes next.

Steve unknots Bucky's tie, placing it carefully on the ladderback chair that sits beside his bed. He undoes the buttons of Bucky's tunic and the khaki shirt underneath, letting his fingers brush against the fabric of Bucky's undershirt, concentrating on the rise and fall of his chest. He doesn't rush, pretending they have all the time in the world. Shirt and tunic both are folded and placed on the chair. He kneels, untying Bucky's boots and pulling them from his feet before running his hands up Bucky's calves, his thighs until he stands once more before him. Belt, trousers, undershirt, boxers, Steve removes them all, folds them all conscientiously, taking the same care with Bucky's clothes as he does with the man himself.

Bucky starts to slip off his dog tags, but Steve puts out a hand to stop him.

"Leave them," he says, not entirely sure why. Maybe he needs the reminder that for now Bucky belongs to the army, that in the morning he'll be gone. Whatever the reason, Bucky doesn't question it. He lets go of the dog tags, moving his hands instead to Steve's shoulders, his grip strong and warm through Steve's shirt. He holds Steve's gaze with his own, then begins to solemnly undress Steve, placing Steve's clothes with his own until they both stand naked in the room.

There's a chill in the air that raises gooseflesh on Steve's arms, and the bare wooden floor is cold under his bare feet, but Steve doesn't care. He puts his hand out, trailing fingers across Bucky's chest, his arms, his back, circling him, concentrating on the way light and shadow play across his skin. He commits all of this to memory, a touchstone to come back to in the coming weeks and months when they'll be separated by distance, by ocean, by battle. He stands behind Bucky, trailing his hands down his hips as he takes in the changes the months of basic training have created, the muscles that have filled out, the way Bucky stands even straighter than before. 

Bucky stays still under his scrutiny, patient until he isn't, until he's raising one arm and rolling his hips and pivoting to envelope Steve in a powerful embrace. And with that movement, all patience, all gentleness is gone. 

They kiss; they lick; they bite. Steve pushes Bucky onto the bed, Steve landing on top of him, his skinny thighs straining to straddle Bucky's. They grind; they moan; they gasp.

Bucky grips his arms hard enough that he'll leave a bruise, the thin edge of pain driving Steve to arch his neck, to beg for more. It doesn't take much before Steve comes with a swallowed yell, Bucky following quickly after, and even that doesn't stop them. They keep moving together, skin now slick between them, the cold of the room completely forgotten in the heat they create. 

It's only after they both come a second time that they begin to slow down. Steve strokes Bucky's cheek, the stubble rough under his fingertips. Bucky pushes damp hair out of Steve's eyes, the look in his eyes fond.

Steve knows they need to clean up or they'll regret it in the morning, but he can't force himself to move. It's Bucky who finally disappears from the room and returns with a damp washcloth, who gently cleans them both, then chivvies Steve under sheet and blanket.

Once he's under the covers too, Bucky props himself up on one elbow and looks at Steve. Shadows from the streetlight outside this room fall across his face, but Steve's eyes have adjusted to the gloom and he can see a sudden curiosity in his expression.

"I never asked," Bucky says. "How was the recruitment centre? Did they let you down easy?"

Steve feels a spark of fear run through him as he thinks about that 1A hidden in the cushions of the couch outside this room. 

"Same as always," he says quickly. "Told me I'd be out on my asthma alone and kicked me outta the building."

Steve's good at lying. His whole life, he's had to lie. To get through school. To get a job. To hide from his ma that he got beat up yet again. But he's never lied to Bucky before, has never wanted to lie to Bucky. And he wonders if he's managed the lie this time, if he's shown the right amount of frustration and disappointment and resignation Bucky would expect.

Bucky stares at him a moment, his eyes narrowing, and Steve thinks that's it, he's fucked up and Bucky's going to go off to war knowing Steve is putting himself in harm's way. But then Bucky's face relaxes and he smiles and drops a kiss onto the side of Steve's mouth.

"Good," Bucky says. He drops onto the pillow and pulls Steve towards him. "I know how much you want it, but I'm glad they could see you don't belong on a battlefield."

Steve buries his face in Bucky's shoulder, and hopes Bucky can't hear the way his heart is hammering in his chest.

Bucky drifts off in no time, curled around Steve, his face in the crook of Steve's neck. But even wrapped in Bucky's protective hold, it takes Steve a lot longer to fall asleep.

* * *

Steve wakes up before sunrise, and finds himself alone in the bed. He stretches and smiles, feeling warm and content, until he remembers: Bucky is leaving today. A spike of adrenaline jolts his system as he scrambles out of bed, pulling on his boxers and a t-shirt, hoping he isn't too late, hoping Bucky hasn't left without waking him.

He bursts into the apartment's other room, and is relieved to find Bucky there, standing beside the couch, his shirt and tunic still unbuttoned, his tie draped across the back of the couch. The relief is short-lived, though. Bucky is frowning at a piece of paper in his hand.

"Where did you find that?" Steve asks.

"I heard crinkling when I sat down on the couch. Thought maybe you'd lost a sawbuck down there. But then I found this." He holds the paper out in front of him. Steve's brand new 1A Certificate of Acceptability.

Steve freezes, struggling with what to say, what to do, to square this with Bucky.

"What the hell did you do, Stevie?" Bucky's voice is as desperate as the look in his eyes.

"I didn't do anything," Steve says, hoping he can front this out.

"Then how did you get this?" He waves the certificate in Steve's face, the 1A fluttering in front of his eyes. "Did you find a doctor who was fucking blind? One who was trying to make a quota? I know you couldn't have bribed anyone. You can barely scrape together train fare most weeks."

"Maybe Dr. Erskine recognized a real soldier when he saw one."

"Dr. Erskine? Who the hell is Dr. Erskine?"

Steve clams up, afraid he's said too much already.

"C'mon, Steve. Who's this Erskine, and why the fuck would he let you in the army?"

"I can't tell you!" 

"What do you mean, you can't tell me?"

"He didn't tell me the details. Just told me he could give me a chance to serve. I think it's top secret, okay!"

"Top secret? Some army doctor has a top secret project, and you go and sign up for it? Jesus, Steve, what were you thinking?"

"I want to serve my country, Buck. Like my dad did. Like you're going to."

"I signed up to fight. You're signing up to be a lab rat. You know that, right? This Erskine probably picked you because you looked expendable. A scrawny little fucker with no family. No one to miss you if something goes wrong. Except _I'd_ fucking miss you, you dumb punk."

"Nothing's going to go wrong, Buck."

"The kind of luck you have, _everything's_ going to go wrong."

"Bucky—"

"And worse, what if this top secret whatever it is works, and you get sent into battle? This isn't some back alley brawl. The Krauts'll be shooting bullets, not throwing punches."

"You're gonna be facing bullets, too. I got no right to do any less than you."

Bucky looks resigned, like he knows they're going to have the same old argument and he's sick of it. But then something changes and Steve sees a flash of something in his expression. Hope, maybe. Or desperation.

Bucky holds the paper—Steve's brand new 1A Certificate of Acceptability—over Steve's head. 

"What would happen if I tore this thing up?"

Steve panics. He's wanted that damned 1A for so long, he won't let anyone take it away from him.

"Don't you fucking dare." He raises his fists, knowing he could never beat Bucky. Not in a fair fight. Not in any fight. After all, Bucky's the one who taught him every dirty trick he knows. But he won't lose his one chance to do his duty, not even if it means socking Bucky right in the jaw.

For a long moment, Bucky looks like he's actually going to do it, tear up Steve's 1A. But then Bucky's shoulders slump, and his fingers relax and he lets the paper drift to the floor.

"I don't want to fight you, Stevie. I just want to keep you safe."

Steve takes one step toward Bucky, then another, until he's standing close enough to him that he can feel the heat of his skin.

"You've kept me safe all our lives, Buck. If I do this, maybe I'll get the chance to do the same for you."

"Jesus, Stevie," is all Bucky says. Then he moves forward, closes the last bit of distance between them, and Steve feels himself wrapped in Bucky's arms, hears the thump of Bucky's heart in his chest. He hugs Bucky back as tightly as he can. "I know you don't believe it, Steve, but you got nothing to prove." Bucky's words whisper in his ear. "You're already the bravest guy I know."

Steve clutches Bucky tighter.

"Nah, that's you, Buck. That's always been you."

Steve wishes he could stay here forever, warm in Bucky's arms. But he can't. Bucky's shipping out, and Steve needs to let him go. So, he takes a deep breath, and then gently pushes him away.

"Let me make you breakfast."

Bucky nods and tries to smile, the expression dying in his eyes before it can even reach his mouth. Steve doesn't blame him. He probably doesn't look any different.

He goes to the bedroom and pulls on his trousers. When he comes back to the main room, Bucky is buttoning up his uniform and fastening his tie. He pauses for a moment, watching Bucky transform into a soldier, his shoulders straight, his mouth determined. He's the most handsome man Steve's ever seen. He should be in the movies, what with how handsome he is.

"Look at you," Steve breaths out.

Bucky looks down, going bashful all of a sudden, like he doesn't know how swell he is.

"Don't look at me like that," he says.

"I don't know what you mean," Steve says with a grin. He moves toward Bucky on the way to the cupboards and bumps against his shoulder, keeping the contact for a few second more than accident would account for before he bustles into the half kitchen and starts getting their breakfast sorted.

He hasn't been to the market in a couple of days, so he doesn't have much food in, but he's got the heel of a loaf of bread and some coffee. While the coffee brews, he cuts and toasts the bread, pulling out the strawberry jam Mrs. Gilchrist down the hall gave him at the end of summer that he's been saving for a special occasion. Ain't no occasion more special than this.

They eat toast sitting across from each other at Steve's battered dining room table, their ankles twined together. Even with Mrs. Gilchrist's jam, the toast tastes like sawdust to Steve.

Bucky takes a last bite and looks down at his watch.

"I gotta go. They want us on the ship before eight, and I gotta pick up my duffle at my folks' place." He stands, brushing the crumbs off his uniform and swallowing a last mouthful of coffee.

"I'll come with ya." 

Steve hasn't taken two steps when Bucky puts a hand on his chest.

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

"Maybe I don't want you to."

"What—?" Steve feels a cold burn down his neck, down his arms at the thought that maybe Bucky's ashamed of him. Maybe Bucky thinks he's a scrawny little fucker that no one's going to miss. "Ain't I good enough to see you off at the docks?"

"Nah. You're too good." Bucky reaches out, snags the back of Steve's neck, pulls him close, and Steve immediately sees how wrong he was. As if he could ever doubt Bucky's love. "And I couldn't do this at the docks." Bucky leans down, and before Steve can prepare, while he's still feeling like he's not nearly enough for Bucky, he feels Bucky's lips on his.

This kiss is nothing like last night. It's gentle, not bruising; it's tender, not fierce. It's everything they can't be to each other in public. It's everything they barely even show each other in private.

Steve leans into the kiss, clutching at Bucky's elbow with one hand. When Bucky finally pulls away, he can't keep a moan of disappointment from escaping from his throat.

"You look after yourself," Bucky orders him. "Be careful around that doctor. And don't do anything stupid. If you're determined to be some top secret lab rat I want you to survive long enough to fight with me over there."

"You look after yourself, too." Steve reluctantly pulls back his hand, releasing Bucky to the war. "I'll be in the 107th as soon as Dr. Erskine is done with me. See if I'm not."

Bucky doesn't say another word, just ruffles his hand through Steve's hair, and then he's gone, the door shut behind him as if he was never there, the only sign of his presence a mug of half-drunk coffee and a plate covered in crumbs.

Steve stands there for a moment, wishing things were different, wishing he could see Bucky off at the docks like gals get to see off their fellas. 

"If wishes were horses…" he says under his breath, then makes himself move.

He does the dishes, wipes off the table, then finally snags his brand new 1A Certificate of Acceptability from the floor. It's looking at little the worse for wear, crumpled from its time in the couch and Bucky's grip, with the edge of the print of Bucky's boot in the corner.

The 1A feels like less of a victory than it did last night, but it's still his. It'll give him a chance to do his duty. It'll give him a chance to be the one to keep Bucky safe. And that's good, that's great. 

That's everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely beta, m. butterfly, for always keeping me on the grammatical straight and narrow.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr [**here**](http://trappingsofzed.tumblr.com/)


End file.
